[My brother, Mark, died on September 11th, 2008; I adapted the following from part of the eulogy I gave at his funeral. It is about how God brings good, even out of tragedy. RCM’s post reminded me of this…]
My late brother Mark’s adolescence was a troubled and stormy one, and matched the wider tumult and upheaval that marked the decade of the seventies in the United States. He and Dad were constantly at loggerheads: eventually things reached the point that they were barely on speaking terms. In the midst of all that, Mark got into a car with a drunk driver, and the driver rolled the car doing about 80 or so; Mark was the only person of the three in the car who was seriously hurt. He broke his neck, and the injury left him a quadriplegic for the rest of his life.
That was a dark time in the life of the family, but it is worth quoting the Gospel of John:
The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Or, from JRR Tolkien, whose tales Mark loved: Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures.
The wake of his accident was an occasion of Grace for the family, a time when we were immersed in Love – people from the church came together, and my parents didn’t have to cook dinner for the four months Mark was in the hospital, because someone from the Church would bring food every single night. Mark himself never went a moment without prayer during the difficult days after his accident, and during physical therapy in Kaiser: people from the church were praying literally around the clock for him. Best of all, the things that had threatened to tear apart Mark’s relationship with my Dad melted away into insignificance.
One of the nurses in the Kaiser Rehab program was a woman named Marilyn; Mark and my family came to enjoy her very much – she grew up in a rough area of Boston, and was both plain spoken and very devout, but in an…earthy way (she was the first person I ever heard use the term, “lower than whaleshit,” which still makes me chuckle). She went to our Catholic parish in Benicia.
She eventually revealed that her husband, Bobby, was the drunk driver who had paralyzed Mark.
Bobby was an alcoholic, and in the wake of what he’d done was swimming in shame – he could not bear to face my parents or the rest of my family. My parents were obviously livid when Mark was first hurt, but came to a place before too long where they could forgive Bobby, and not carry around the burden of a poisonous grudge. They had Marilyn relay this to her husband, but he still could not bear to face them.
One day, my family came out of the church, and saw Marilyn, and greeted her – “Hi, Marilyn!” – and she greeted my parents by name. Bobby happened to be with her – and suddenly everyone realized who everyone else was. Bobby realized he was facing my parents, and my parents realized that this man with Marilyn was the man who had paralyzed their son.
Bobby turned to my father, his face dark with shame, and said, “I don’t know what to say.”
My father went to him, and hugged him, and said, “It’s ok, Bobby. In a way, you gave me back a son.” Bobby wept in my father’s arms.
Indeed, something miraculous happened: In the wake of his accident, the troubles of Mark’s adolescence faded away, and in their place was the beginning of the phase of Mark’s life in which God took the raw materials of Mark’s life and circumstances, and from those made of him something like a saint.
The crosses Mark bore were heavy indeed, but he bore them with great love. Of all the children of the Family, my father’s final illness and death 13 years ago were hardest on Mark. Dad was sick with cancer for a long time before he died, and all of us kids pitched in to help, staying with him and looking after him. We, however, could leave, get some air, take a break and re-charge; Mark was there the entire time, and bore the burden with immense strength and patience. He was never bitter, always attentive to the rest of the family; never angry, but always available to talk to and comfort us as we comforted him.
One of Mark’s regrets is that he didn’t get a chance to tell our Dad he loved him before he died, but I think there is, as I write, a joyous reunion happening in Heaven where my Dad is letting him know that he knew Mark loved him, and they can express their love now without reserve or hindrance.
Mark spent the last few years of his life in increasing physical pain. Pain can blind you to others, and keep your focus on yourself: with Mark, though, he reached out and became more giving — of his time, his prayers, and sending us things unasked for and unannounced; things he bought online and just arrived out of the blue on our doorsteps; things we might have mentioned in long-forgotten conversations that we might need or want, and he remembered and got it for us. I expect that in some way he will continue this tradition, sending us things that we didn’t know we needed from where he is now.
The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In